


Pork Soda

by bklynlow77



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also like some happy chunks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, alcohol and weed and such, also like, but they're of legal age if that's a concern, so i guess, there's definitely happy shit in here??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklynlow77/pseuds/bklynlow77
Summary: Keith and Lance had a summer romance once, but that was a year ago. Time has passed now.





	Pork Soda

**Author's Note:**

> This is some sad shit and some cute shit! Not really a happy ending so much as a hopeful ending? idk i wrote it in like four hours after a ten hour shift so sue me.  
> Inspired from the song "pork soda" by glass animals after listening to the song while viewing some good good fan art. Not necessarily fan art pertaining to this fic, just a few pics of the boys smoochin

Keith woke up to watery light spilling in his window through yellowing glass. The pang in his head coupled with the dryness of his tongue followed soon after, bringing back hazy memories from the night before.

He’d been out with his friends, at Shiro’s request. He had become reclusive as of late, or rather had reverted back to his old ways. Back before…

A soft snore huffed out next to him. He turned as quickly as his hangover would allow to see Lance drooling on his pillow.

Well, fuck.

 

 

Back before. He loathed to think of back before.

He had moved to the city with Shiro looking for a new start. He and his brother ended up instead finding a shitty apartment with shittier neighbors, stuck in dead end jobs neither of them wanted that didn’t make enough to cover rent.

Shiro was naturally charismatic, something Keith was quietly envious of. He had met Matt through work, which lead to Pidge and Hunk…

And Lance, of course.

Fucking Lance.

Keith should have known the second he saw Lance that he was fucked. Tall, athletic, an infectious smile he couldn’t ignore if he wanted.

He kept telling himself that this jackass was irritating, but he couldn’t pretend for long. Luckily, Lance was dense enough to fall for his ruse for a couple months, at least.

 

 

The blankets next to him shifted suddenly, startling Keith out of his own head. He glanced fearfully down at the shape next to him.

Lance groaned at the morning light, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Keith waited with baited breath for him to fully wake up.

A long brown arm stretched out languidly, colliding with Keith’s sternum. Both of them froze. Lance cracked an eye open, making unwilling eye contact.

He sighed. “Well, fuck.”

 

 

Summer hit the city like a bag of bricks. Damp bricks.

Keith couldn’t walk two feet outside without being drenched in sweat. The stifling humidity made him crave the cool respite of winter again.

It seemed like the city hadn’t heard of AC yet. Whether he was home sitting directly in front of the crappy dinged fan in his boxers or at work waiting for the oscillating fan to move back to him, he never seemed to get cool.

The heat wasn’t just affecting him. Patient, focused Shiro was cross more often than not. Summer meant sweat pools under his prosthetic where the socket met his arm, which Keith could only imagine was unbearable.

Their friends weren’t much better. No one wanted to go out anymore unless it was to get another bag of ice from the 7-11.

The only one who seemed to be thriving was Lance. He prattled on endlessly about growing up in Cuba under swaying palms, with a pizza shack right off the beach and blue oceans.

It was when he had been talking about the ocean when he broke down Keith’s walls. Nothing sounded quite as nice as dipping below the icy waves, washing away the stickiness with refreshing salt.

He could feel the longing overtaking his face, if only for a moment. It was enough for Lance to notice, and a roguish grin ripped into his face. He grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him up off the couch, out of the apartment, and into the city.

They ran past moments from Keith’s shitty life. Past the convenience store he rotted away in during the day, past the bar he rotted away in at night. Past the prison his boss loved to remind him he’d end up in one day.

Lance had dragged him by the hand the whole way, ignoring Keith’s protests with a promise of a great idea. They kept a clip that burned in the lingering heat of the afternoon.

Finally, finally, Lance pulled to a stop. They were on a cliff edge overlooking the bay the city called its own. The sea sparkled under the heavy glare of the sun, laughing waves refracting up into Keith’s eyes.

Lance was saying something about Rolo, maybe that he had shown him this spot once. Keith was more focused on catching his rasping breath.

Maybe Lance noticed he wasn’t paying attention. Maybe he just liked to be dramatic. Either way, Lance gave one last long look at Keith before taking a running leap over the cliff.

Keith gasped as Lance gave out a whoop, dropping like a stone towards the bay far below. An eternity in a few seconds passed, and he hit the water with a significant splash.

He resurfaced soon and waved to Keith, beckoning him down. Not a word was spoken, yet the siren song penetrated deeper than any words. He breathed a laugh, slipping off his shoes and socks before running after Lance.

 

 

Lance, this Lance, now Lance, wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He had rolled out of bed and was now shuffling around looking for his boxers among the destruction of Keith’s room.

“They’re over by the door.” The words rang Keith’s head like a bell and sat heavily in the room. He grimaced, unsure if from the hangover or the tense silence.

“Thanks.” Lance’s words were just as stilted. His jeans were, thankfully, nearby, but his shirt and hoodie were nowhere to be found in the chaos. Maybe he had taken them off outside. Maybe he hadn’t even worn them over. Summer made people do crazy things.

He paused at the door, clearly uncertain. “Well, uh. I guess I’ll go, then.”

 

 

It had been beautiful, if fleeting.

Both of them knew, somehow, that whatever this was wasn’t going to last. The cliff jump had lead to soft, stumbling kisses, then clashing mouths and rough hands. One night turned into several, and soon they were a “something.”

Neither of them wanted to label it. That was too concrete. Putting a name into what they were doing was too heavy for the summer heat.

Still, they showed up places together, not explicitly holding hands, but still. Fuck, even Matt had noticed something was going on. They weren’t exactly subtle about it, especially when someone brought out a bottle.

Shit, it was fun.

Keith hadn’t felt like this in years, if ever. Lance brought out a levity in him that left him bubbling over. Stoicism was abandoned for laughter and warmth.

Shiro was overjoyed, naturally, even if he was polite enough not to mention anything to his younger brother. Lance was allowed in the apartment whenever he could, and if they wanted privacy, Shiro was more than willing to leave for quieter areas.

They never did go back to the cliff. It was an unspoken agreement to keep that memory singular, golden in a bright beginning. Walking back to Keith’s apartment with chattering teeth and dripping clothes, Lance hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Keith the whole way.

He started by holding Keith’s hand again, tangling their fingers together while rubbing the heel of Keith’s palm with his thumb, but that didn’t seem to satisfy him. He bumped his nose like an affectionate cat against Keith’s shoulder until they both couldn’t hold back giggles. He pressed a smiling kiss against the shoulder before moving to Keith’s face, the crook of his neck.

Keith shoved him off, failing to act annoyed by the fondness. Lance squawked and threw his arms around Keith’s shoulders, attacking him with what seemed like the worst combination of a hug and a flurry of kisses.

They both wondered how they possibly managed to make it back.

 

 

Keith shifted uncomfortably. He figured he should probably get up, at least make toaster waffles or something. He wasn’t that shitty of a one night stand.

He let out a deep breath and heaved himself out of bed. It was a long look for a clean pair of underwear and t shirt. God, he really needed to clean his fucking room. He was shocked he didn’t find a roach carcass among the piles of clothes and shit.

Lance was standing next to the kitchen counter, staring down. His shirt and jacket had been folded neatly and stacked, unwritten courtesy of Shiro. They had to have been shucked before crossing into Keith’s room.

Even after Keith had walked out into the crappy combination living room/kitchen (read: sofa dangerously close to an iffy stove), Lance still stood there. The stack of clothes stared passively back.

Keith stood helplessly in his doorway, unable to even make fucking breakfast.

 

 

Summer nights had been a haze of lying in bed drinking warm, flat beer.

Keith had considered splurging at first, as though he was trying to impress Lance, and had bought a pricy six pack.

That bullshit lasted a total of an hour.

After that it was bitching and moaning over who was going to run over to the 7-11 and buy the next round. Keith almost always won, complaining about running into coworkers.They both knew it was really because Lance couldn’t resist those puppy eyes.

Neither of them minded the taste of the cheapest one 7-11 sold. It left a solid buzz, if not an aftertaste reminiscent of the landfill in mid July.

Every time Keith looked over at Lance, drinking in his beaming face or that spot near the hollow of his right hip, he felt a resonating ache below his ribcage. Even when they wasted away days under plumes of smoke or drunk off their asses from something stronger, it was a bitter constant. He felt it in his lungs and veins, foreboding of what was to come later, once the summer heat subsided.

 

 

Lance eventually put on the shirt, abandoning the jacket in the stuffiness of the apartment. The shitty, rickety fan had given out a couple days ago, and the brothers couldn’t scrounge up enough to replace it.

The break of motion cut into Keith, and he walked past brusquely to the freezer.

There was a bottle of tequila, diminished from what Keith last remembered. A bag of frozen broccoli sat in the door shelf, iced over from whenever Shiro had bought it to get Keith to eat something healthy for once. And of course, there was a slightly dented cardboard box of off-brand Eggos.

Keith felt vaguely pissed off about the Great Value waffles, but it felt more like he was trying to bring back a feeling than come about it naturally.

He held a few waffles up soundlessly for Lance rather than enunciating. Lance thankfully could still read Keith’s shitty body language. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Keith silently put the waffles in the toaster and sat down on the sofa. Lance sat as far from him as he could while still at least trying to seem casual.

They both watched the toaster wordlessly.

 

 

Autumn came.

They both denied it as long as they could. Lance started up classes again at the city college, majoring in something Keith tried to find interesting. Keith picked up more hours at the 7-11 to pay for all the booze and weed neither of them could strictly afford anymore. It helped, sure, that their weedman was Pidge out of her and Matt’s basement, but even she could only offer so many discounts.

Nights were spent together until they weren’t. It was as simple as that. One night they were trying to reclaim whatever they had in August, the next Lance had a test he had to study for in September.

There were ways to try to make it up. The sex was still good, to Keith’s relief. It wasn’t even about his own need anymore, so long as trying to capture that pleased look on Lance’s face.

Other than that, it was the usual. Shiro began quietly voicing concern about the amount of Jim Beam bottles littering Keith’s room, so Keith began to cover them up with scattered laundry.

When they weren’t drinking, Keith stayed as high as he could. His boss either didn’t notice or didn’t care. To him, Keith was fucking scum any way he saw it. Who cared if he reeked of smoke.

 

 

The waffles popped up.

Keith offered Lance a scratched up plastic plate, pretending he hadn’t chosen blue specifically for his favorite color. To cover his tracks, he chose the other blue plate.

God, he hated he had to think this in depth about fucking plates. Subconsciously he knew it was unnecessary and that he was just being a paranoid dumbass, but still.

His fingers itched for a cigarette, or maybe a drink, even though it was barely nine in the morning.

They sat in the same silence, accented by the occasional crunch of waffle. Keith’s ears strained at the lack of anything, and he felt that familiar ache settle comfortably once again in his chest, like it always did around Lance.

He said nothing.

 

 

By the time winter rolled in they had stopped pretending altogether.

Dense clouds sloughed snow onto the sidewalks, where it would either puddle in crusty heaps or melt in salty slush. Keith continued working at the 7-11.

He had switched over to cigarettes after Pidge cut him off once and for all, and fumbled with his lighter to get one going during his break. His fingertips were frozen, but he didn’t bother thinking of getting better gloves. He had gotten these fingerless gloves from Shiro a few birthdays ago and wore them as much as he could.

As he took a slow drag, an old ache crept over him. He didn’t recognize it at first, seeing as its muse was missing, but realized what had triggered it. If Lance had been here, he would have teased Keith relentlessly over the gloves. Something about him being an emo poser. Keith would smile and shove him, prompting Lance to hold his hands while exclaiming about their temperature.

What a bitch, Keith thought with a little smile.

His phone buzzed, and he jolted at the feeling. He checked it eagerly, much to his chagrin. Despite everything he still hoped it was Lance, texting him something, anything. A shitty joke or random fact. Hell, even a casual greeting.

It was Shiro. Keith wasn’t surprised. No one really texted him anymore. He didn’t go out with the others as often as before, for fear of running into Lance.

They hadn’t spoken in months, at least since October. It was, what, February? March? Keith had stopped keeping track. Every day was the same, after all. Slush, 7-11, sleeping alone.

Shiro texted him about yet another meet up at the bar. He rolled his eyes ignored the text. Someone as smart as Shiro should have learned by now.

 

 

Lance brushed crumbs off his face and stood up. “Well, I, ah, I think it’s time for me to go. See you around?”

Keith stared at the wall behind him. “Yeah, man. See you around.”

 

 

Shiro convinced him, finally, to get out of the apartment in late June.

The stifling heat had returned in full force to the city, and the bar at least had air conditioning. So what if it made the bar lukewarm instead of hot? Anything was better than their apartment with the broken fan.

If the usual group was surprised by Keith’s return, they were polite enough not to say anything. It was the same faces it had always been, with the addition of Shiro’s girlfriend Allura if anything.

Seeing Lance had been a trip, naturally. He had been expecting it, but nothing could prepare him for the sucker punch.

The only thing Keith could think at first was, he hasn’t changed his hair. On TV, whenever it had been a long time since someone had seen someone else, there was always an appropriate haircut to mark that time had passed.

Lance still looked like something out of Keith’s daydreams. He already had a summer tan on top of his Cuban glow, and his blue eyes sparkled like the bay had that day long ago. He was laughing with Hunk when Keith and Shiro arrived, and the sight of his rounded cheeks and full grin left Keith breathless. It was like time hadn’t passed in the slightest.

But it had, and they all knew it. Lance spoke to him casually every so often, but it was painfully obvious to Keith that it was all for the others. Something was lacking behind his eyes as he dutifully addressed Keith.

Keith answered everything hollowly, desperately trying to fade into the vinyl seats of their booth. When that didn’t work, he excused himself for a smoke to at least calm his nerves.

Unfortunately, Lance followed quickly in suit. Keith could hear the others commenting quietly just outside his periphery.

They stood outside the bar quietly as Keith tried to shakily light up. Lance quietly snorted and offered him a joint instead, which he gratefully accepted. Honestly, he had never really enjoyed the taste of cigarettes. It was just another thing to ease his nerves.

The weed loosened him up comfortably. He passed it back and forth with Lance, breathing easier after each hit. Soon he was laughing again, basking as Lance took his hand and led him away from the bar.

 

 

Lance nodded and moved to the door.

“Wait.”

 

 

It had been like slipping into a warm bath. Lance’s hands fit perfectly around him, smoothing over his ribs and hips. Keith tangled their legs together, weaving his fingers into Lance’s hair as he latched onto Keith’s neck.

They were good at this. Even when things had gotten distant, they had at least had this. Lance whispering things Keith would dream of later behind the shell of his ear as he ripped off his shirt before even reaching the bedroom.

It felt so good it was painful, a warbling ache finally being quenched, if only for a moment.

Keith wasn’t high anymore, and he knew Lance wasn’t either, but neither of them seemed to care. If anything, they reached for each other more with scrabbling fingers, searching for handholds. For a moment it was as though the past few months had never happened.

And yet the ultimate neediness they both displayed proved otherwise.

Keith held Lance impossibly closer, and a tear tracked down his cheek. Lance captured it between his lips with a muffled shush, repeating the words Keith had been waiting for over the past year.

“I’m here.”

 

 

Lance looked back warily. “Yeah, man?”

Keith was suddenly moving at terminal velocity, grasping Lance’s hand the way they had once long ago. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. He had to. “What if we went back?”

Lance, bless him, didn’t need anything more. “It won’t be like it was, Keith. I mean, what if we ruin it?”

He still thought of it too, then. “Fuck how it was. Let’s make it better.”

The same horribly familiar silence crouched between them, though this time Keith had hope it might end.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

Keith nodded, solemn, not wanting to break what was happening. He reined himself in as he walked back to his room, shutting the door so Lance wouldn’t see him rip through the piles of laundry to find a pair of pants and his shoes before they both changed their minds for the better.

When he returned, dressed haphazardly and ready to go, Lance had laced up his sneakers and donned his hoodie, toying absentmindedly with whatever he had in the pockets.

They made uncertain eye contact, and Lance nodded. Keith swallowed before delicately taking his hand, cool fingers slipping over his own.

Keith guided Lance quietly to the cliffside, barely remembering the way if not for the shitty landmarks in the city he had called him for a year now.

Past the 7-11 where he continued to slog his days away for minimum wage.

Past the bar he actively avoided at night, drinking alone instead.

Past the prison he had successfully avoided so far, much to his boss’s dismay.

Up to the cliff someone had shown Lance long ago, maybe, or maybe Lance had found it on his own and didn’t want to admit it.

Keith wordlessly pulled off his sneakers and socks, sparing one glance back at Lance before taking a running leap into the bay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! This is my third fic for this fandom! Also my first ~angsty~ fic so thats something i guess. kudos and comments are always appreciated :)  
> Come bother me on tumblr! @toastyzuko


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